


sooth(e)

by waveechocave



Category: The Adventure Zone: Amnesty - Fandom, the adventure zone
Genre: Anxiety, Character Study, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 10:47:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17099159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waveechocave/pseuds/waveechocave
Summary: "Duck?" Indrid asks. "You're always welcome here, um, I know you know that, but it doesn't seem like you're here just to... hang out, maybe? Is something the matter?"





	sooth(e)

Duck pulls his coat off as soon as he steps into Indrid's place. The space heaters are running on full blast and filling the space with warm air. He knows to expect the temperature, what with having come here more than, you know, once. Indrid's got a particular set of... needs, even if Duck does worry about the whole fuckin' contraption just up and burning to the ground.

But it is what it is. Duck offers a quick one-handed wave Indrid's way as he drapes his coat over back of the couch. "Uh, hey."

"Hello, Duck." Indrid's smile, as always, stretches a little too wide, shows a few too many teeth. 

Duck knows to expect that too. Weird as it still all is—and it is weird as all _hell_ —this Pine Guard business has expanded his mental map of the world, that's for sure. Somebody needing a room kept unseasonably warm, fine, having that much... mooouuth... fine, fine, cool. It's cool, it's great.

Everything's fine about all of this. It's fine.

It's just—

Abominations sure do keep coming. Audrey and Ned and himself do keep fighting them off, yeah yeah yeah, they haven't failed to beat them back yet, but Duck's heard from Mama and Barclay both that there's been, in the recent past, folks who haven't made it. There's been times it's gone all to hell, and folks have— they, uh—

Duck drums his fingers against a countertop; nerves against formica. The sound's uncomfortably loud in the closed air of the RV, with Indrid _lookin'_ at him like that, head tilted in curiosity. The glasses add to the look, even if Duck knows in his smart person brain that they're wide like that all the time, because they... are _glasses_.

"Duck?" Indrid asks. "You're always welcome here, um, I know you know that, but it doesn't seem like you're here just to... hang out, maybe? Is something the matter?"

"Aw, shit, I'm sorry." Duck tries to shake his nervous energy out. "Sorry. No, just standing over here looking ominous as all fuck, that's me. Sorry. Shit!"

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Man, I don't know. You tell me. Do I?" Duck scratches the back of his neck. He's all caught up in his head, trying to plan too far ahead. He's not serious in asking Indrid, the seer, to tell him how he feels and what he's gonna do about that, but it's admittedly a nice thought, admittedly, it just being that easy.

Indrid laughs gently. "I expect by now you're aware that that's not quite how it works," he says, carefully extricating himself from his mess of quilts and blankets. He tugs a sweatshirt on before standing up; it'd been Duck's once, too small for him now, still a little too big on Indrid. He's long, lean, thin. Not exactly a combat physique.

"Yeah, man," Duck sighs, "I know."

"I wasn't sure if you'd come by, Duck. Even the likelihood of something like that was close to even odds." With a lopsided smile, Indrid reaches up and pats Duck's shoulder. The sweatshirt sleeve covers his hand up. 

Duck drops his own hand on top of it anyway. He averts his gaze, glancing down and to the side; he's got a few too many nerves flying around to look Indrid in the eyes right now, glasses or no glasses. (...actually... no glasses would be worse, but that's not, uh, _germane_ at the moment.)

"Okay. Yeah, uh, okay. I guess I'm happy to hear I've kind of got probability on my side, so to speak?"

"Well, not necessarily! Anything could go wrong at any time, remember."

After Duck's guts twist all up, he sucks air through his teeth. It's a tight, sharp sound. Indrid jump slightly at the noise—standing this close, Duck can just see the shape of his actual eyes past the disguising lenses, red on startled red.

"That was grim," Indrid realizes, "wasn't it?"

"Little bit, Mothman! Little— little bit!"

Indrid manages a hollow, wincing laugh and slips his hand free from Duck's shoulder. He doesn't move any further away like Duck expects, though; his shirtsleeve just comes up to pat Duck's cheek instead. "You'll have to accept my apologies; it's... well, it's a habit I've fallen into to protect myself, in a way."

Duck twists his mouth all up. He isn't sure what words to try to make come out of it, then gives up, leaves the ball in Indrid's court instead. "Yeah?"

Indrid nods, then turns from Duck to shuffle his way into his tiny kitchenette. Duck watches him reach for an empty mug then pour himself some nog; he shakes his head as politely as he can manage when Indrid offers him some.

Indrid's long fingers wrap almost all the way around the mug when he holds it, leaning back against the countertop as he talks. "Duck, I can see so _many_ different ways that everything could turn upside-down in an instant. It... helps, in an odd sort of way, to keep in mind that it's possible things could turn out very badly for me at any point. It helps keep my expectations in check, helps me stay on top of things. That way, when things go south, I'll be ready to, you know, skedaddle."

Duck lets out a long, loooong breath. "Indrid?"

"Yes?"

"That's not any less grim. That is still extremely fuckin' grim. I just feel I ought to, y'know, point that out there. I mean. _Je_ -sus."

Indrid laughs again. It seems a little more mirthful this time. "I suppose it can be. No, Duck, listen, I'm not asking you to see things the way I do, since you don't... see things the way I do! Just, um, just a fun little prognostication joke there."

"Oh, that's—that's funny."

"I thought so, right? It's pretty good. But I suppose what I'd ask you to take away from this conversation is that even though there _are_ countless potential outcomes that could end in our gruesome demise, we're still here. We're still here!"

Duck hums in thought. "We're still— still kickin'. Yeah."

"We are still _kicking_ ," Indrid echoes, beaming at the new turn of phrase to magpie into his vocabulary. Alright. "We've managed to live through everything so far."

"Okay, please understand that I've lived all forty mumble years of my, my whole life so far, Indrid, without considering basic survival an, an _accomplishment_." Duck crosses his arms, looking a little conflicted in his face, and glances down. "That is, I guess, essentially the uhhh... the paradigm shift I'm struggling with here, you might say. It's, uh. I'm scared?"

"Oh. _Duck_." 

"Man, look, don't rub it in. I don't know. This is weird. This is _weird!_ The other guys, I feel like they got too used to that, and now it just feels regular to 'em? Like, you ever watch your favorite movie a couple dozen times and get to a point where it's like, shit, now I kinda—don't even want to see it, like aw it's Sunday night and I gotta do laundry anyway and—but it's not movies, it's fuckin' water ghosts and psychic trees and alien goat people and I don't even _know_. What if we can't handle the next thing? What if _I_ can't?"

Duck can't look up at Indrid now. Hell no. His eyes are plastered down to the floor, watching his own feet. He doesn't wanna imagine what kind of expression _the actual fucking Mothman_ is looking at him with.

He hopes it's nice, though.

He just worries.

Somewhere off to the side, heavy glass thunks down against the countertop. "What'd you come here for, Duck?"  
Right. Yeah. Duck's mouth is dry, his throat is dry. He gets that this is a hell of an underestimation, probably, but there's a part of his brain drawing Indrid's future sight up in comparison with his good old friend generalized anxiety disorder and the way it branches the future out into every possible disaster. "You gonna be okay out here?" he asks.

He looks up just enough to see Indrid's smile split open almost ear to ear. His hands find Duck's and give 'em a squeeze. And it's unexpectedly, otherworldly strong. "Yeah," Indrid whispers, low and reassuring, "yeah, we're going to be just fine."


End file.
